


Skyhold High

by RedInkOfShame



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: (get it?), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Enemies to Lovers, Light Dom/sub, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rival Teachers, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, and, but many side ships to come, consistent themes of, solavellan is the main ship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9058801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedInkOfShame/pseuds/RedInkOfShame
Summary: The members of Inquisition are the faculty at Skyhold High, the upperclassmen are the DA2 crew, and the lowerclassmen are the Origins gang. Lots and lots of hormones raging all around. This story is so I can write lots and lots of smut without having to worry about things like story lines or coherent plot.





	1. Under the Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's trash is Christmas-y female masturbation.  
> Solas x Lavellan

Des was a math teacher, struggling throughout the school year to drill some sense into her students. The school she worked for, Skyhold High, was a public school, far from prestigious and with a budget that was far too small for the number of kids. She was lucky—most classroom supplies were paid for by the teachers, not the school, and as a math teacher she required fewer expenditures than, say, the art teacher, Sera. Still, no one working for this facility had a chance of getting a Wintersend bonus this year; or any year. 

What they did get was a lightly catered party after work the Friday before. Her _real_ bonus was Vice Principal Vivienne pretending not to notice the gratuitous amount of alcohol (not allowed on campus, of course) that Varric, the English teacher, used to spike the eggnog.

And the punch.

And the iced tea. Pretty much everything besides water from the fountain. 

Des very rarely drank more than the occasional glass of wine, but she'd be damned if she wasn't going to take advantage of her annual bonus after the year she'd had. She needed this break.

Which is why she was here, in the very crowded employee break room full of her coworkers, completely smashed for the eighth year in a row. 

“Here you go, Boss,” said Bull, the guidance counselor and her enabler for the evening, as he handed her her refilled plastic cup. She was standing near an open window, despite the cold; it was stuffy. She grinned up at him, eagerly accepting the eggnog, but before she could continue their previous conversation she saw someone enter the room behind him. 

“Cole!” She brushed past Bull to make her way through the press of bodies to the boy. Eyes bright and blue, he was still wearing his hairnet and apron. At least he'd remembered to remove his plastic gloves, this time. Behind him Abelas, the custodian, shoved his way in with a scowl. “Abe! I'm so glad you both came,” Des exclaimed when she got to them, flinging her arms around Cole. 

Eggnog sloshed over the brim of her cup as she did so, and she saw Abelas frown at the wet spot on the carpet as she pulled back. He was no doubt thinking about how he'd have to clean it up later. She held her clean hand out to Abelas, and after a small huff he deigned to shake it. Eight years of trying to bond with him, and she was still nowhere near 'hug' status. 

“Thank you for inviting me—it's so nice to see everyone smiling!”

“She shouldn't have _had_ to invite you,” Abelas said, as if she wasn't there. “We are faculty as much as the teachers. We should not be ostracized.”

“Principal Calpernia just forgot, I'm sure,” Des lied blatantly. Every year she made sure everyone working for the school was welcomed, not just the teachers, but they rarely showed up. “Besides, it's not a party without my favorite lunch la—lunch boy? Lunch gentleman...Cole, Cole what is your job title?”

“I prefer lunch lady,” he answered, sending her into a fit of giggles as Abelas scoffed and walked away for refreshments. “Though we sometimes serve breakfast as well...”

Des took a sip. “Lunch lady Cole it is. Do you want some eggnog? It's _very_ good eggnog.”

“I'm allergic to eggs.”

“Oh, well, it's imitation, can you have that?”

“If there's no egg, and no nog, then what's in the cup?” he wondered.

Des, who'd been downing the rest of her drink, choked and sputtered on her laughter. A very large hand walloped her back as she coughed. 

“Bourbon, mostly,” Bull answered from behind her. To Des, he said, “I think it's time for you to get some fresh air. I'm going to text your ride, let her know you've had your fill.”

“Yes mamae,” she replied teasingly, not particularly upset. It was a probably a good idea. So, spinning (and then staggering from her dizzy head,) she left through the door.

...Unfortunately, it was not the door to the hallway. Oddly, the air was easier to breath here in the coat closet. She heard hearty laughter from the other side of the door at her expense. 

She leaned against a cool wall, inhaling deeply of the dusty air. The dark was calming, plenty of light coming from beneath the door to see by. Maybe she'd stay in here until they sent in a search party. That would teach them. 

Maybe a minute later she heard a snotty voice from just outside her closet. “What do you mean, there is someone--” The door opened, and she blinked at Solas, the asshole history teacher. “Ah.”

She pushed herself up to standing, crossing her arms (distantly aware that she no longer held her empty cup, but she couldn't remember what she'd done with it). “Private party.”

He huffed. “I am only getting my jacket. You may continue wallowing in the dark in just a mo—” The door was shut behind him as he stepped forward to reach for a hanger. He turned to glare at the door, or those on the other side of it. “What childish... Children.”

She laughed at his failed attempt at an insult, her arms falling to her sides. “You're drunk.”

“I am no such thing!” he protested. “I am merely... I'm... Yes, I think you are correct,” he said at last, the corner of his lips pulling up as he pulled his jacket down. 

The slant of light from the closet was still more than enough to see how the smallest smile transformed his face from looking like a god carved from stone to a... To... It softened his features in a way that made him really fucking hot. She couldn't stand the bastard. Not a day went by that she didn't want to either punch his stupid face or sit on it. Most days it was both.

She returned his quirk of a smile, but he was already turning to leave, coat in hand. She stopped him, having made a really dumb decision just now. “Solas, wait.” He turned back, and she looked up at the ceiling. “Mistletoe.”

His brows knit together, not taking his eyes off of her. “Why would anyone hang mistletoe in a—”

She leaned forward to shut him up, his eyes flickering closed just before hers; she was going to take that as permission. She kissed him sloppily, pulling him in. She always liked him better when he wasn't talking.

Good gods, he didn't even hesitate! He immediately dropped his jacket, pulling her in tight. His head twisted to the side, and Des could taste the bourbon on his tongue. His thigh was between both of hers, which she didn't notice until she shifted slightly and felt him rubbing against her. Sliding his leg between hers without a thought had to be the smoothest thing anyone had ever done to her in a closet. She rolled her hips, a small experimental motion, but she got the angle exactly right to stimulate her clitoris and send electricity through her.

She half-moaned, half-gasped in surprise, and tried to pull back for air; it only seemed to spur him on. Solas only allowed her a small breath as he twisted his head the other way. His hands reached around her to grip her ass fully on both sides, and he used that position to moved her hips, to move her back and forth along his thigh. 

Holy shit. Ravenous, she pulled at him, his clothes, his lip with her teeth. She bucked her hips, riding him, already shockingly close to getting off. She realized, a bit late, that the pressure she felt hard against her hip was _him_. She was vaguely aware, of course, that she should not be touching her coworker's erection at all, but that wasn't going to stop her. She slid a hand between them, running down his chest, his abdomen, wanting nothing more than to stroke his cock.

She never got the chance. The voice of her friend penetrated the door. “She's in there?”

Solas and Des jumped apart as the door handle twisted, him far faster than she. She flinched at the light as Lace opened the door. Solas was already bending down to pick up his jacket. 

“Hey, you got the door open!” Des said. “It wouldn't work from this side.”

“Pardon me,” Solas interrupted, attempting to move past Lace. He held his jacket folded over his arm, in front of him.

Lace stepped back so he could pass. She helped Des locate her jacket, and hobble to her car after some quick goodbyes.

~~~~~

The drive from the school to home was short, and Des hardly spoke to Lace. Lace would attribute it to her silence to her intoxication, but of course that wasn't it; she was still reeling from that kiss. Though, she supposed it was also the alcohol.

Twice she opened her mouth to tell Lace about it, but Lace would ask questions she didn't know the answer to, no doubt. Also, fraternizing with coworkers was against policy, as Lace, or Ms. Harding as she was known at the middle school, would know. So she thanked her again for the ride, instead.

But once she was home, well, then she could think it out properly. She fumbled for longer than strictly respectful while trying to get the keys in the door, and then waved goodnight to Lace. She locked it behind her and made her way for her bed, kicking off her shoes in the process. 

Her head was spinning too much for any of her usual nighttime routine, her vision double as she did the bare minimum: undressing and taking out her contacts.

She plopped onto her bed, limp. And then her thoughts started to wander. As did her hands.

Gods, who knew? The asshole history teacher, quiet, reserved, well dressed. Fantastic fucking kisser. 

He'd always walked with a certain swagger. She'd always attributed it to him being an arrogant ass, but she was starting to see where he got some of that confidence.

She slid her fingers between her folds, still wet, remembering the way she'd rubbed against him. She leaned her head back, trying to imagine how he'd kiss her neck. With teeth, hopefully. Biting, ragged breaths... 

She reached for her nightstand, for the vibrator in the drawer. 

Clicking it on, she move it against her, a simulation of his thigh.

It was a shame she hadn't managed to wrap her hand around him. To feel how hard he was, the shape of it, the size... She would just have to use her imagination.

She pushed her toy into herself easily, bending her knees and lifting her hips to fill her before she started to slid it in and out of her. She would assume average size; wouldn't want to set herself up for disappointed. Not that they'd ever have sex, of course. But, if they did, it was best not to go overboard. Average length, then... Perhaps a bit extra thick, just for the sake of her fantasy. She started moving a bit faster.

Would he be circumcised, like most city elves? Probably. 

Maybe she'd call and ask.

She giggled, trying to imagine how he'd react. He'd certainly been hard for her only moments ago. What if he was at home right now, doing the same thing she was to the thought of her? Her movements became faster as she imagined leading him into phone sex, imagined listening to his labored breathing as he pumped himself on the other side of the line. 

Then she giggled triumphantly. She _knew_ she'd caught him checking out her ass before! She'd never been completely positive, but she knew. He must have, the way he held onto it for dear life tonight, like he was drowning and she was a buoy. How long had he wanted to do that? His grip on her...

She shifted her position. After all, he'd want to take her from behind, wouldn't he? Given their history, he'd probably want to spank her as he nailed her, too. 

Des picturing Solas enthusiastic and frantic, losing control. She'd never heard of him dating anyone—the poor bastard probably hadn't gotten laid in years. No wonder he'd been so eager tonight... He'd take her like that, frenzied and trying to hold back but getting off quickly, too quickly—

She shuddered, gasping as she came at the thought of his stupid smug face red and vulnerable. A few breaths to calm her heartbeat and she pulled her vibrator out, clicking it off. She tossed it aside—she'd clean it tomorrow. 

She smiled again. What would Solas say if she told him she touched herself, thinking of him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!


	2. 3... 2... 1...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas x Lavellan

Solas shifted uncomfortably as he approached the front door. From inside he could hear Varric’s annual New Year’s Eve party. He did try to socialize an appropriate amount with his coworkers—he was fond of them and it made working relationships easier—but two gatherings within the two week break in classes seemed excessive. This marked the first year that he’d gone to both.

That was not why he was uncomfortable, however. It was his stiff heavy military jacket. He much preferred his wool winter coat, but it was still at the cleaners; he’d managed to get eggnog all over it last week. He hadn’t understood how, until he remembered how sticky his shoes were after leaving that coat closet…

Leaving Deshonna. Retreating as if under fire. It felt foolish, once he’d sobered up, but it wasn’t as if he could let everyone see his… See the effect kissing her had on him.

He’d had to take himself in hand twice that night to get any rest.

And tonight he came to apologize. Not for _that_ , of course. He could not apologize for something without first admitting to it, and he wasn't about to tell her such a thing. It was far from the first (and second) time it had happened, in any case.

Solas rang the doorbell. He and Deshonna had made no contact in the last week, and classes began again on Monday. He did not wish to return to work with this awkwardness hanging over them. Working with her was insufferable enough as it was.

The door flung open. “Solas? What are _you_ doing here?” asked Dorian, the drama teacher, dramatically.

“Chuckles! I didn’t expect to see you so late, the ball’s about to drop,” greeted the actual host.

“My apologies, I meant to arrive sooner. I’m afraid I fell asleep watching an old war movie on television,” he admitted, entering the house and pulling off his jacket. The house was far nicer than most of the other teachers could afford, though he supposed Varric’s successful writing career could be accredited to that.

“Ah, I caught that one, too. The book was better. Well, make yourself at home, get yourself a drink, etcetera.”

He nodded, and strayed farther into the crowd. Varric and Dorian picked up their previous conversation behind him, evidently discussing their lesson plans for the semester; the drama and English teachers often worked together to ensure the students understood the literary significance of the plays they performed each school year.

Solas hadn’t even made it to the refreshments before he caught Des’ eyes as she seemed to stop mid-laughter to glare daggers at him from across the room.

“Uh oh. What’d you do to piss ‘er off this time?” he heard the art teacher, Sera, goad from his left.

He turned down a hallway, his gaze darting away. Not running, this time, but a tactical retreat, luring her in.

It worked like a charm, which was either a very good or a very bad sign. He'd been here before, so he made for the guest bedroom where Varric would have told him to leave his coat if he'd not been so distracted.

Des followed him into the room and slammed the door behind them.

What was the point of speaking privately if she was going to alert everyone to their feud, he wanted to ask. Instead he said, “I wanted to apologize for the other night, Deshonna. The kiss was impulsive and ill considered…” He let his words linger, knowing he should stop there and accept the blame, but… Years of provoking her had formed a habit. “And I should not have encouraged it. I’m sorry.”

She ignored his implication—reminder, really—that she’d started it. “You’re damn right you shouldn’t have!” she hissed. “What’s wrong with you, taking advantage of a drunk woman like that!”

He felt a sinking feeling in his chest. Awkward as it would make working together, he’d held hope that she wouldn’t regret it… Wouldn’t resent him for it. He didn’t bother mentioning that he’d been far from sober himself. Odds were he'd have behaved similarly, even if he hadn't been.

“I wasn’t, clearly. I _am_ sorry. I didn’t mean for… I hope we can move past this.”

Outside the room, the party guests began to countdown to the new year:

       
_‘10... 9...’_   


“Yeah, because we were such good friends before,” she snarked. “It would be a shame to let this come between us."

       
_‘8... 7...’_   


He sighed unhappily. “What do you propose we do, then? We must continue working together. I am open to suggestions.”

She crossed her arms. “Fine. I suggest we forget that it ever happened. Drunk kisses don’t count.”

       
_‘6... 5... 4...’_   


He nodded, relieved. Or… Disappointed. “Of course. Thank you.”

She uncrossed her arms. “You don’t have to thank me, asshole. So it’s forgotten?”

“There’s nothing to forget,” he replied, obligingly.

“Good.” She slinked towards him.

       
_‘ ‘3… 2… 1…’_   


“Maybe you’ll remember this one, then,” she purred, and as the crowd cheered _'happy new year!'_ she grabbed his collar and pulled him to her lips.

He leaned into it, fool that he was, but he was hesitant this time, not quite believing what was happening. This had not been one of the results he'd predicted. He allowed his hands to only loosely hold her waist, returning her kiss softer and slower than before.

Minx! This had all been a game, all her supposed anger. She thought she could throw him off so easily?

Forcefully, she pulled harder on his shirt, and he could feel her frustrated grunt as her tongue slid along his closed lips. She was sober this time, and asking for more.

Well, he’d just have to give it to her, then. He pushed his tongue past hers, taking control. His hands gripped her hips as he pressed against her, pressed the attack. She hummed approvingly, running her hands up and down his front, his back, and he braved breaking away from her lips to have at her neck instead—the hitch in her breath proved the risk to be a wise one.

She melted under him as he scraped his teeth along her pulse, and he tried to memorize the way it made her shudder, the taste of her skin, the smell of her hair... His surprise as her hand cupped his rear.

He groaned and took that as permission to squeeze hers with both hands, fingers sliding along the fabric of her skirt. She tormented him daily with these damned pencil skirts of hers, tempting him mercilessly. He'd wanted a chance like this for a long time.

It was very much worth the wait.

He relinquished her neck before he wound up leaving a mark, catching her mouth again. Des bit his lip and he felt her wedge a hand between them, not to push away but to run down the line of buttons on his chest, his stomach tensing under her touch... She didn't stop there, continuing until her palm was stroking his length, straining as it was against its confines. Her touch knocked the air out of him, and he instinctively lessened his grip on her, giving her space to move her hand.

She pulled back and gave Solas a mischievous look as she cupped him, and he managed to guess her intention by the subtle shift in posture just in time. His hand jumped up, catching her chin between thumb and fingers just as her knees started to bend, keeping her upright.

Oh, he wanted to let her continue, for a great number of reasons—not least of all was the satisfaction seeing her on her knees. But she'd showed her hand with her games, earlier, and he knew how Deshonna was with men; she wanted to overwhelm him, to have him at her mercy, to leave him wanting more.

And as soon as she'd had him, she'd lose interest and leave him dazed in her wake.

Solas was greedy: he wanted far more from her than just this night, which meant he had to keep the upper hand. Keep _her_ wanting.

So, holding her chin tight enough to catch her notice, he _tsked_ as condescendingly as possible. Sternly, he told her in a hushed tone, “Now is neither the time nor the place, _vhenan_.”

The Dalish pet name oozed derisively, and she immediately shoved him away; this time her anger wasn't a ruse, but an instinctive response to rejection. “ _Asshole_ ,” she sneered.

She turned, snatching her jacket and purse off the bed and storming out of the room with another slam of the door.

He lingered in the guest room a moment. It was necessary; he needed to cool his blood before joining the party. He'd just arrived, after all, so it was too soon to think about departing. The others would likely ask what all the fuss was about, but the ongoing feud between Deshonna and himself was well established at Skyhold—he need merely make an excuse for why she'd have it out for him once again.

He'd certainly failed in his mission here tonight: there would still be plenty of tension when classes began again. Somehow, as he straightened his collar and chuckled to himself, he couldn't bring himself to be upset about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year (for those following the Gregorian calendar)!


End file.
